Transience (33 page)

"Thank you," he said, staring into her eyes, spotting something familiar.
 
It made him smile.
 

His acceptance brought no smile to her face, just wonderment.
 
Rebecca wasn't sure what she was feeling, but the sense of urgency she had been experiencing for so long seemed strangely absent at the moment.
 
She went to breathe in and her heart skipped a beat, which made her gasp mid breath.
 
She turned and ran out the door, so hard and fast the screen door slapped the metal guardrail outside with a thwack.
 

She flew down the steps to where her mother was waiting.
 
Laura didn't ask why she went back, but noticed the gold cross was no longer around her neck.
 
She put her hand on her shoulder and they walked back to the car.
 

Laura wiped one errant tear from her cheek and started the engine.
 
Rebecca turned and looked out the back window, Francisco was watching from the balcony.
 
She waved to him.
 

He lifted his hand to acknowledge her.
 
As Laura pulled away, Rebecca kept staring at Francisco until he was no longer in sight.
 
She kept looking back until the building disappeared around a bend.
 

Finally, she turned and sat down.
 
She faced front the entire way home, not looking out the side window, not looking at her mother in the rearview mirror.
 
Just looking straight ahead.

CHAPTER 55

The large wooden doors of the detention center swung open.
 
Reporters and curious onlookers battled to get a glimpse of the killer.
 
Bishop was led out wearing a white coverall jumpsuit, his hands zip tied behind his back.
 
Two burly officers escorted him forcefully through the crowd to a waiting police van.
 
He appeared meek and frail next to them; his cheekbones flush and protruding, as if he was sucking in, clenching his jaw.
 

Bishop played to the cameras, not talking, but not shying away from their lenses either.
 
He appeared calm, almost serene in the chaos, the attention not disagreeing with him.
 
From the look on his face, it was clear that this was the moment he had been working towards.
 
This lonely drifter was now in the spotlight, people were shouting his name.
 
So what if it was because they hated or feared him.
 
So what if he would be infamous for such violent, nefarious deeds.
 
He was
somebody
now.
 
He stuck his chest out, almost strutting, but remained silent.
 
They would have to wait and wonder what went on in the mind of this
mindless
killer.

"Did you murder those girls?" one reporter shouted.
 

Another, the same woman that had interviewed Jack on the 6 o'clock news, stuck her large rounded microphone under Bishop's nose.
 
"Can you tell us why you did it?"
 
One of the officers swatted her microphone away with the back of his arm.

Reporters started to overlap each other, screaming questions at the same time, louder and louder, trying to drown each other out, hoping their voice would be the one that solicited a reaction from the monster.

Bishop was hustled into the back of the van.
 
An officer climbed in and closed the door, nearly taking the arm off another reporter for The Detroit Free Press.

The officer sat beside Bishop as they rode through the city to the courthouse.
 
Bishop's air of indifference — the look on his face, the lingering smile — irritated the officer more as each second passed.
 

"Wipe that shit grin off your face," the officer said.
 
Bishop widened his smile to show teeth.
 
"You're the flavor of the hour.
 
Tomorrow you'll be locked away, left to rot in a cage.
 
And no one's gonna give a shit."

Bishop continued to smile, infuriating the officer, who kept making fists inside his leather gloves, anxious to vent his disgust.
 
Then bishop's face abruptly grew solemn and straight.
 
He looked at the officer with a sort of pity.
 

"My place in history is secure."

"As a fucking nut job."

"Exactly."
 
Bishop ate back a smile.
 
"It's you who'll be forgotten.
 
I've left my mark on society.
 
They'll spend years agonizing over clues they missed, how I could have been stopped, studying me in order to prevent the next one."
 
Bishop couldn't contain his grin, perhaps trying to goad the officer into a physical altercation.
 

"I know all about you," the officer said, looking away, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact as he spoke.
 
"Let's see; loner, parents were assholes, no friends at school, probably bullied because you were such a witless pile of shit.
 
No girl will have anything to do with you, so you sit home alone, pity yourself, and you get angry.
 
You want what you can't have, what no woman will give you.
 
You got tired of paying for it, so you decided to just take it, take out your frustration on a poor defenseless girl.
 
And it made you feel like a man.
 
But that's all you can do, because you're not a real man, you're a rat.
 
A worthless piece of trash no one gives two shits about.
 
And now, for the first time, people are saying your name, talking to you, and you feel important.
 
You're even grinning like some fucking retard.
 
But by tomorrow you'll realize what your mother must have realized long ago — what a total failed experiment giving birth to a fuck up like you was.
 
As you stare at those same four cement walls for eternity, you'll have forever to think about what a complete fucking loser you turned out to be.
 
I give you three weeks before you hang yourself with your bedsheets."

Bishop stopped smiling.
 
He rode the rest of the trip to the courthouse in silence.

CHAPTER 56

The sun broke through the clouds.
 
Jack lifted his face, inhaling the cold November air.
 
He gazed out at the reservoir as divers went under and resurfaced, searching.
 

Harrington was leaning on the hood of Jack's car, overseeing the investigation.
 
There were officers and forensic personnel standing by the shoreline, awaiting the gruesome task of retrieving and bagging any evidence that might be discovered at the bottom.
 
Harrington twisted to see if Jack was still behind him, he was being so quiet — had been all day.
 

Jack didn't answer his phone that morning, Harrington feared something might have happened to him overnight.
 
A macabre thought, but Jack had seemed inordinately down and depressed the night before.
 
And you never know how people might respond to that depth of despair.
 
Some might put a gun in their mouth.

But a few minutes later, Jack had pulled up.
 
Any small talk Harrington had offered up was met with silence.
 

The hours of watching and waiting were starting to get tedious.
 
Harrington tried again to start a conversation.
 

"So…Carl's not coming?"

Jack inhaled the cool dry air.
 
"Refuses to believe she's down there."

"Where's he now?"

"At the arraignment."
 

Harrington nodded.
 
"I'll be real happy when this one's over.
 
I spend any more time at work, I'm gonna come home and find the wife with the mailman."

Jack looked up at the sun.
 
"Forecast said rain."

"What do they know?
 
Good thing, wouldn't that have sucked.
 
I hate standing around like this.
 
So do you, you get all jittery when things take too long."

"I'm in no rush to see it."

Harrington turned to look out at the divers.
 
"Yeah…who knows, maybe Carl is right.
 
Maybe Bishop's pulling our chain."
 
Jack ran his tongue over his teeth.
 

"Maybe."

"All that hard work, and it's dumb luck that cracks it," Harrington said, looking back at Jack.
 
Jack's face was expressionless.
 

"That's usually the case.
 
They make a mistake, you catch a lucky break.
 
It's never what you expect."

"What
were
you expecting?"
 

Jack looked out at the water.
 
He tucked his cold hands in his jacket pockets.
 
"I don't know.
 
You stare at something long enough, your mind starts to play tricks on you."
 

Harrington began to say something, but held it.
 
Then said, "I know what you mean, I keep trying to put together that winning parlay.
 
Lions were getting 7, I thought they were a lock at plus 17.
 
I had it, but shit never works out the way you plan it.
 
I guess if it did, I wouldn't be doing this.
 
I'd be playing left tackle.
 
Fuckin' hamstring."
 
Harrington stretched and scratched at the sky with a loud moan.
 
He took a few steps towards the water.
 
"They must be freezing down there.
 
Shit, it's cold.
 
This is taking too long, maybe we should just drain it."
 

Jack walked over to the driver's side of his car.
 
"Call me when they find something.
 
You're in charge now."
 
Jack climbed in and closed the door.
 
Harrington hardly had time to process what Jack had just said when Jack started the engine and threw it in reverse.
 

Harrington threw his hands up.
 
"Where are you going?
 
Whaddya mean I'm in charge now?
 
You make it sound like you're not coming back."
 
Jack reached the road and stopped, eyeballed Harrington over the steering wheel.
 
Their gaze locked for a brief moment, Harrington sensed Jack was saying goodbye.
 
Jack straightened out onto the road and drove off, kicking up a cloud of brown dust.
 

"Jack?"
 
Harrington jogged up to the road, watching Jack leave.
 
He meandered back down to the water's edge, his makeshift seat now driven away.
 

He spotted a ripple in the water.
 
A diver emerged, his head popping up with a loud burst of air.
 
The diver spun around, disorientated.
 
He found Harrington on the shore.
 
Harrington held his palms up,
anything?
 
The diver shook his head,
no.

CHAPTER 57

Robert's home was a small three bedroom colonial with beige siding and a chain-link fence.
 
There was a gate in the center, the hinge broken.
 
He stood on the front steps, greeting two more guests at the door.
 
A man and a woman handed him a wrapped gift with a card taped on top.
 

"Thanks guys, come on in."
 
Robert lodged the gift under his arm and waved them across the threshold.
 
Patricia gave them a second greeting from the living room, which was overflowing with guests now.

"Oh my gosh, you're ready to burst!" the woman said, extending her hands out to touch Patricia's very pregnant middle, bulging under her sweater.
 
Trish smiled and allowed the guest to rub her stomach, beginning to feel more like a sideshow attraction than a party host.
 
She wiped her sweaty forehead and smiled, initiating small talk, even though she felt a little nauseous and tired.

Robert noticed, but didn't pay it too much mind.
 
She'd been feeling off for a few days — she'd just gotten over a cold — probably just remnants of it lingering.
 

Robert stepped outside and watched the street, scanning the passing traffic expectantly.
 
Cars were parked all along the curb in both directions.
 
One was partially blocking his neighbor's driveway.
 
He would tell them to move it, anticipating the obligatory complaint.
 
Not that he really cared; they were moving soon, he'd never see most of these people again.
 

His manufactured grin cued up as another late guest folded back the broken gate and walked up the path to greet him with a handshake.
 
He ushered him inside.
 

His expression dimmed as he took one last look.
 
He stepped back inside and closed the door.
 
Patricia could see the disappointment in his face.
 
She walked over and took his hand.
 
"
We're what's important today; us, the baby, nothing else."
 
His eyes greeted hers and she pulled him close with an affectionate one armed hug.
 
They rejoined the party as the happy couple.